At first, I wanted the second part of the headline to say “but I feel so” but it didn’t sound right. It’s hard for me to put a finger on the definition of a Canadian, although it’s tempting to use the building blocks of hockey, maple syrup, and Timbits. Besides, I know people who’ve spent 20 years here and the only thing that hints at them being Canadian is the blue passport. I also know people who have never been here, but their mindset and the spirit of the country make up a perfect match. So in this blog, I’m going to talk about what Canada is for me, the role it plays in my life, and why it feels like home.
The land of second chances.
When we decided to move to another country, Canada was an easy choice: transparent immigration process, stable status, and strong passport. We weren’t ready to spend a decade worrying about work visas and fighting for every paper or support we needed somewhere in Europe. Australia was also one of the options, but the distance and spiders were too big of a red flag.
Before moving here, I thought of Canada as “the best country for immigrants.” Now I know that it’s the country accepting you for who you are, with the unique journey you have, allowing and empowering you to be whatever you want to be. Although immigration can be grinding and soul-sucking sometimes, here, you don’t need to burn yourself to ashes to then resurrect, reinvent yourself, and start building the life you’ve always wanted. Instead, Canada is the best place to undergo slow, deep, and meaningful transformations.
You want to work 80 hours a week and do heli-skiing as a hobby? Go for it. You want a secure job with a decent income that will give you time to watch your kids grow? No problem, sprinkle some hard work and effort over your daily routine.
Of course, life in Canada is not all rainbows, marshmallows, and unicorns. No matter their background and experience, the immigrants coming here normally can’t have the job they’re qualified for straightaway. First, you need to earn the right to apply to the positions you like by doing entry-level work for a minimum wage. But that’s not the point.
The point is that here, the rule of thumb is “whatever effort you put in, it pays off.” What matters is that the results of your work can’t be taken away by a ridiculous law introduced overnight or a decision singlehandedly made by a more influential person.
My first boss back in Russia opened one of the best language centers in the whole city, but the thought of too much attention and fast growth made her anxious. “What if someone with influence notices us and decides that they want to own this business? It’ll take them a couple of phone calls to make it appear on papers that I have nothing to do with this company.”
Owning the power.
If you’ve never left Canada, you might not be aware of how grateful you should be for the power you hold over your personal space, decisions, and life.
Last week, I was scrolling through an app for neighbours, where people who live in the same communities share their concerns and ideas and post garage sale updates. Usually, it’s someone offering handyman or babysitting services, or people looking for their lost pets, but the post that caught my attention was about high utility bills. The comment that made me stop scrolling said, “well, this party was a wrong choice.” Not “they let us down!” or “it’s their fault.” A comment like this can only come from the space of power, confidence, and responsibility. Whoever wrote that comment embraces the mistake of choosing the current party and knows that during the next elections, they’ll be able to make a different choice that will affect the way they live. Sounds reasonable and pragmatic, doesn’t it?
Canada brings up realists, transforms you into one. My homeland, Russia, nurtures fatalists. The generational memory of neverending suffering and being robbed by those who hold power is a part of my Russian DNA, and I’m not denying or giving up on it. I’ve accepted it, but it still hurts, like a wound that has lost its healing capabilities, when my mom says, “oh well, there’s nothing we can do,” or “who needs those protests? They are useless.”
Another thing my mom always says, and I can finally feel it peeling off of me, is, “Next summer? No one plans that far. We need to survive this week and get to the Sunday first; then, we’ll see.” The current situation only worsened and sharpened the feeling that long-term planning makes no sense. Here, most of the colleagues I’ve had are saving for retirement – something only a tiny part of my friends from Russia is doing.
That’s why, when we went to Cuba last January and started making plans for the next holiday season, I was fascinated by the fact that it didn’t sound crazy to me. And yes, we’re thinking about retirement—a happy one.
Homeland vs Home.
Carrying the weight of the fact that my homeland didn’t feel like home is a complicated task. I love the culture and language I soaked in growing up as a Russian girl. I love the people who helped me become who I am right now. It breaks my heart that I don’t have the opportunity to call my sister and go out for a coffee on a nice day. But…
Imagine that you want to grow a beautiful garden. You can spend your whole life tending it, picking the best seeds and fertilizers, and working hard day and night, but the environment must also be favourable. At least, you need to know how to read the weather signs and what to get ready for. Russia is the country where your “garden” can be exposed to hails, storms, and droughts within one month. Canada is where you have a step-by-step guide to growing a blooming oasis: grab the tools, roll up your sleeves, and work. And that’s what we’re here for.
Small signs of big changes.
Canada is the country where I started noticing and embracing small signs of tremendous changes.
It is the country where I stopped leaning towards my son to hold his hand when we’re walking–he’s tall enough for me to walk straight.
It’s also the country where no one has ever given me a stinky eye when he throws a tantrum in the supermarket.
It is the country where new, important things about myself came to the surface. The feeling is like the one you get in the Rockies when you look at the lake and can see stones on the bottom, even where it’s deep because the water is calm and crystal clear. It feels like here I managed to slow down, take a deep breath, and if before everything I could see was waves and sand, now I can see as deep as I want to.
It’s the country where I came to a conclusion that everybody else seems to have been living with for their whole lives, but I only felt it this year: your job title does not define who you are. There’s so much more to a person than a set of skills and responsibilities defined in a contract, and realizing that was both relieving and overwhelming. It’s funny that I’ve never thought of other people based on their titles. Still, somehow I managed to tie myself very firmly to the work I was doing, leaving everything else behind as situational, not statistically significant. Proud not to be doing that anymore.
I didn’t plan it this way, but it happens that today we’re celebrating Thanksgiving in Canada. A short list of people and experiences I’m thankful to and for:
- my husband, for inspiring me and taking care of our family in an immeasurable number of ways;
- my son, for being more flexible and adaptable than we could ever imagine;
- the friends and family who have been supporting us for the past years;
- the friends who chose to disappear;
- the hiring managers who decided to give us a chance;
- the kind people we met at every stage of our journey;
- Canada, for being the country where we have the power to grasp opportunities to build the life we want.
